There Are No Happy Endings
by SuicidalToeSocks
Summary: How often do they fight? More than they thought. How often does he yell? Almost never. Is it going to be the end? He's not sure. He's stuck in a world of books. He's still immature. One thing's for sure, there are no happy endings.


**A/N: I've had the most horrible days these past two. I won't go into the list of what went wrong, it's long, obnoxious, and exceeds the amount of text an author's note should have. Just assume it's like a Murphy's Law sort of deal – anything that could have gone wrong did go wrong, in the shortest amount of time possible. However, I haven't been on rocky terms with my boyfriend, so this story doesn't apply to me in that respect. Thank god.**

**I need to vent.**

It wasn't a gentle sunset, like it usually was. It was coarse, rough, burning. It stung Aaron's eyes, but he didn't look away from it. On the roof of the castle, which looked more like a warehouse once someone looked past the gaudy stone guise on the outside, Aaron was leaning against the wall that lined the roof, arms folded, back bent, with streaks of dried tears striping his face, and the poker-hot rays of the sun burning into his face.

"Hey, you okay?" asked a tentative voice from behind him. Aaron didn't respond, but continued staring. He heard footsteps crunching on the gravel, and then someone was beside him, staring not into the sunset, but down at the teenager. Aaron sniffed.

"Of course I'm okay, can't you tell?" His shoulders raised higher towards his ears as he tightened his folded arms, bringing them in closer to his body. "Just freakin' peachy." He flinched and rejected the hand that reached out to set itself on his shoulder. "So leave me alone."

"After I find out what happened," Flint replied. He leaned one hip against the small wall Aaron was propped against and looked down at his friend with his own pair of equally stern folded arms. "I'm not just going to let you sit around and mope. You'll pop like a Drifloon."

He noticed Aaron's fingers clench tighter around his arm when he spoke. He saw the small twitch in his eyebrow. He and Flint stayed in silence for a little while longer, the sun burning into every orifice of visible skin on them as it sank lower and lower, reflecting on the sea below it and casting fiery reds and oranges into the sky. At long last, Aaron let out a sigh that seemed heavier than the heat of the sun and bowed his head in defeat.

"Lucian and I had a fight."

"I know that, I share a wall with him. I think Bertha on the other side of me could hear it," he responded. "What were you fighting about?"

"...Stuff."

Aaron's hands clenched again, denting his skin where his nails dug into flesh. His teeth gritted, his eyes clenched shut. Flint saw traces of tears on his eyelashes, but Aaron seemed committed to not letting them fall to his cheeks. He opened his eyes, blinked a few times, and the tears were gone. He gulped and continued to stare out into the sunset.

"About us."

Flint's hand wasn't rejected this time when he placed it on Aaron's shoulder and gave him a squeeze. He'd heard the boy's voice crack. Something didn't sit right with him about it. Aaron wasn't the manliest kid in the world, but his voice only cracked on special occasions, when he was entirely too scared or upset to even begin to know what to do. That alone concerned Flint more than ever.

"About how we don't understand one another. How he's lost in his world of books and I'm too immature." Aaron sniffed again, and the tears made another slight appearance. "How we're too different, how I can't see the big picture and how he doesn't understand how the real world works. How our job comes first but I can't see that, how he expects everything to have a script or a story, how I don't know how to do the right thing because I haven't grown up properly! How he won't be more open and accepting! How _there are no happy endings_!"

The tears had returned with a vengeance. Aaron's head fell forward and buried into his arms, sobbing, shoulders shaking. For once, Flint was at a loss for what to say or do. He'd never encountered a breakup before. Volkner didn't date, and would be the one to instigate the breakup if he did. Flint was the one who did the breaking up, not the other way around, and he hadn't known Aaron or Lucian long enough to know their relationship history until they got each other. He just patted the boy awkwardly.

"So, you two are over, then?" he asked tentatively. There was another bursting sob, a hiccup, and a sniff coming from the mushy, crying lump that was previously Aaron. The boy lifted his head and stood straight, staring at Flint through red, puffy, watery eyes.

"No, not yet," he murmured. "But that's what I'm worried about. I've never... Lucian... He's never yelled like that before. I've never seen him so angry." Chin tucked to his chest, Aaron fell forward and thumped his forehead against Flint's chest. He wrapped his arms around him and nuzzled in. Flint knew his front would become tear-stained any second now, but he just held the boy there, letting his sobs fill the silent air around them as the sun began to give way to the night.

"It'll be okay, Aaron," Flint said at last, rubbing circles on his back in what he hoped was a soothing manner. "Lucian's smart and usually level-headed, and you're sweet and always willing. I'm sure you guys will come up with something, don't you think?" He looked down at the boy with a small, hopeful smile. Aaron became silent, then took a step back from him, arms fallen to his sides, and his eyes alight with angry tears that greedily shone with the last remaining blood-red rays of the sun still streaking the sky.

"Aaron..?"

"Yeah, of course, everything's going to be okay!" he mocked. "Flint, if anyone doesn't know shit about the real world, it's you!" His hands balled into fists at his sides. His arms were shaking in anger. "You've got a best friend that likes you, despite what stupid, moronic things you do, and you've never been on the bad end of a relationship before! You're second to the top in the Elite Four minus Champion, and you're happy all the time! You have everything handed to you on a damn silver platter!"

Flint took a step back as his voice rose to a shout that resonated louder than his sobs had. The boy's eyes were alight with fury, the tears running from them and leaving fresh, shining trails in their wake. "H-hey now, Aaron–"

"Don't you "hey now, Aaron" me!" he yelled. "Why should I listen to you?! You don't know anything about anything! Everything is _not_ going to be okay! You're just as bad as Lucian! You think the whole world's a happy place filled with Beautiflies and sunshine and love stories and happy endings. But guess what, Flint?" He took a step forward and poked him in the chest. Flint stumbled back another step, too shocked to say anything clever in response.

"W-what?"

"There _are no_ happy endings!" he exclaimed. "There _are no_ love stories! There's only this world, right now, and that's not going to change! Get a reality check for once, it's not as great as you think it is!"

Flint watched the boy go with a slightly empty feeling in his chest. He stomped across the roof, threw open the door, and brushed past Bertha angrily, who was standing just outside the doorway, a plate of cookies in her one hand. She stepped out onto the roof and the two stood in silence for a moment until the door clicked shut, leaving a heavy silence behind.

"He's much worse than I thought," she mumbled. Flint brushed his shirt off and nodded, still staring at the door as if Aaron might come bursting through and apologize at any moment. But of course, he never did.

"I didn't think he had it in him..."

"He's been bottling it all up. My guess is that he fights with our psychic master more often than we notice," Bertha hypothesized. "Come here and have a cookie and calm yourself down. I'm sure he didn't actually mean it." She held the plate of cookies out to him and he slowly reached for one. Chocolate chip. Hers were always gooey and soft, with lots of little dark pieces in the center, hidden from the exterior.

"What do you mean he didn't mean it?" Flint said, cookie still in hand. "He sounded like that had been almost rehearsed or something. Maybe you're right and they _have_ been fighting more than usual."

"It's probably what his response would have been if any of us had said it to him," she replied. "The boy's been under a lot of stress since he came to the League, and since he and Lucian got together, things could only be rougher, I imagine." She took a bite of her own cookie. "Imagine being the one who's looked down on, regarded as the weakest. He's the first in our lineup, and we all know how bug trainers are regarded in their early years."

Flint nodded. She was making sense, for once. He spun the cookie in his hands, still entirely whole.

"And now, he's got a boyfriend who graduated from college, more than pretty much every trainer can say, at the top of his class. His pokemon are higher-leveled, his skill is unmatched, and he's one step away from being the champion himself. Aaron's only leg-up is his type advantage, but Lucian's talent can outmatch that easily. But Lucian has no clue when it comes to personal relationships, having spent his life either studying or training." She took another bite and looked up at the stars. "He doesn't know how to completely act around people, much less let himself go, while Aaron knows exactly how to do just that, but can't figure out why Lucian is so logical about everything."

"Then how did they come together in the first place, if they're so different?" Flint asked. Since when was Bertha this insightful? She shook her head, a light smile playing across her wrinkled lips.

"They're entirely the same."

"But you said–"

"I know what I said. But that's on a different level." She winked at him. "They're both smart, they're both curious, and they both love their pokemon. Both are hard workers, willing to put in the effort to make something work how they want it to." She shrugged. "Lucian may learn from his books, Aaron from his experience, but they both come to the same conclusion in the end. And where one lacks, the other gains. If they aren't the same, they're different, in a corresponding way."

Flint blinked down at her. "Since when did you become this observant?" he asked. "This is so very unlike the sweet old lady who cooks and nearly beats me to death on a daily basis."

"With age comes experience," she answered with a twinkle in her eye. "But I know Aaron didn't mean what he said to you because he's too upset right now to notice any of the things I just said to you. But he'll come around, teenagers mood swing all the time."

Flint finally decided the cookie looked much more appetizing than before and took a bite. The inside, though, wasn't crowded with chocolate chips as per usual, but normal, soft, chewy and sweet. She smiled.

"Have the plate, I'm glad you like them. I'm going to go talk to him, see if I can get him to calm down. You didn't exactly do a wonderful job, dear." She whacked his arm playfully and headed towards the door to the stairs to make sure Aaron was okay, leaving Flint with his plate of cookies alone under the stars.

Xxxx

"Aaron, dear?" called Bertha, poking her head out of the two doors that posed as the entrance to the warehouse-turned-castle. A small sniff was heard in response.

"Go away," said a voice, one which made Bertha's ears strain. She took a right from the entrance doors and peeked around the corner, and saw Aaron propped against the castle wall, hands in his pockets, staring at the grass between his feet. She got closer and stood next to him, not saying a word.

"I'm sorry I bumped into you when I was leaving the roof," he mumbled with another sniff. "I didn't think someone was going to be there."

"I don't think I'm the one you ought to be apologizing to, Aaron," she replied. "A bump is a bump, but yelling is much more hurtful and personal." He glanced away and wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Yeah, Flint..." he mumbled again. She raised an eyebrow.

"And..?"

"...And that's it," he replied, standing straighter. "I shouldn't have to apologize to Lucian, he started the fight! Besides, the sooner I talk to him...the sooner it'll end." He rubbed one arm with this hand at a sudden chill, but she couldn't tell if it was from the nighttime chill or his own words. "And I don't want it to, not yet. It'll just cause more fighting. There's no way to solve this happily."

"What were your words, Aaron?" Bertha piped up. "There are no love stories? There are no happy endings?"

"That's the one," he mumbled. She nodded.

"Well, you're wrong."

"Who told you that?" he snapped. "A fairytale?"

"Common sense and old age told me that, smart-mouth," she replied just as tartly. "Because everyone is capable of love. And where there's love, there's a love story."

Aaron looked down at her now, all anger washed completely away by his earlier torrent of tears. She pressed onward. "And when there's a love story, there's always a happy ending."

"That's wrong and you know it."

"Yeah, but it sure sounds nice, doesn't it?" she laughed, elbowing him gently. " But honestly, if you're going to take that attitude, then of course there won't be a happy ending. It's eighty per-cent mental, remember?"

"Yeah, and twenty per-cent luck," he answered. But nonetheless, he unpropped himself from the wall and arched his back back, stretching it before standing to his full height. "I'm going to go talk to Lucian, though." For the first time that night, a smile played across his lips. "Wish me luck, Bertha."

"All the luck I got, sweetie!" She answered. At the last minute, he poked his head around the corner.

"And Bertha?"

"Yes?" She raised an eyebrow at the boy, bodiless head sticking out in front of her, a happy expression growing more and more as the seconds ticked on.

"...Thanks."

"Just doing my job as a sweet, wise old lady alright," she said with a curt nod. He laughed.

"Well, you're sure doing a good job on the "old lady" part."

Flint watched from the roof as Bertha shook her fist at the boy and chased him into the castle, stepping back from the edge as soon as the front door swung shut behind them, then decided to greet them at the stairs with a plate of cookies and a friendly smile.

**A/N: You can tell the transition from where I was super upset and pissed off to where I pretty much vented all my upset out of me. I didn't actually expect for that to happen. I guess my mood influences my writing a lot. **

**I don't care about critiques, because I know this isn't fabulous like my other stuff. This was made for my venting and it did its job, and one day when I decide I don't like it anymore, I'm going to take it down.**

**I don't have a future as a serious writer. For real.**


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